


no masters or kings

by thrvnbys



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Rey/Ben Solo - Freeform, Priests, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hux is a priest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrvnbys/pseuds/thrvnbys
Summary: Ben lowers his head onto Hux's knees, closing his eyes and breathing out softly. It shouldn't, but it goes straight to Hux's groin."Father," he says, "please forgive me for I have sinned."Hux shifts his legs, almost imperceptibly, and waits.His penitent confessor shakes just slightly, biting out the next words to come out of his mouth."Hux," he says. "I killed my father."
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	no masters or kings

**Author's Note:**

> (I had to repost this because something went wrong.) Largely unedited.
> 
> This is my first work for the Star Wars fandom, I hope you guys like it!

_**the new priest arrived in the dead of night,**_ leaving a trail of cigarette smoke and dust in his wake. 

Everyone remarks that while he was undoubtedly a handsome man, there was something distinctly indecent about him. Rey thinks its the color of his hair—red heads, she says, are never trust worthy. Finn thinks its the priest's eyes, which held a cool, level gaze over mass. Poe puts his money on his lips—lips as pretty as his would never be confined to the word of God, Poe says. 

Ben thinks it might be all of the above. 

For the first time in his life, Ben finds himself too focused on mass. Words that would have normally flown right over his head suddenly sound beautiful and unholy. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something stupid. 

"He keeps looking over this way," Rey whispers to him. "What do you think he's looking at?" 

"Looks like he's looking at Ben," Poe interrupts. He's never had an inside-voice, so the couple in the pew two rows in front of them turn to look curiously at him.

Poe's an idiot, Ben thinks, but he glances over at the priest anyways, and he finds that Poe's right. He _is_ looking at Ben, and there's a flicker of amusement when their eyes meet. 

"Fuck," Ben whispers, and he's sure the priest hears it. 

The priest looks away, the corner of his lips pulled up in a hidden half-smile.

Ben lingers at the end so that he's the last to receive the communion bread, which is really just a piece of wafer that always gets stuck to the roof of his mouth. Finn and Poe are already long gone, probably desecrating some holy closet somewhere. Rey is standing in front of him, being fed the wafer. 

The priest's eyes fall on him, and again Ben gets the unfathomable notion that _he's looking at me. He wants me._ He can feel the blush burning the tips of his ears. 

When its his turn, he looks up from underneath the veil of his long eyelashes and opens his mouth obediently. 

The priest's hands are cold around his jaw as a wafer is pushed onto his tongue with a thumb. There is a second of hesitation when Ben meets his eyes, kneeling before him with his finger in his mouth. Then, all at once, a look of disgust washes over the priest and his thumb is removed. Ben's jaw is released and the priest elegantly makes an escape down the aisle. 

Ben is ashamed by the wave of desire that crashes through him. 

He goes home and falls apart to the image of himself kneeling between the priest's legs. 

...

He finds the priest - or rather, the priest finds him - wandering along the edge of the forest that separates Ben's home from the next town over. He slips a hand into his pocket and produces a handkerchief to wipe the sweat he's broken from chopping up the latest pile of firewood. As he's doing that, he notices a flash of red hair approaching him from the left. 

"Hello, Father," Ben says, a little awkwardly. "What are you doing here?" 

"I was taking a walk in the forest that borders your property," somehow it makes perfect sense that he has a British accent. It's clean, cold, and devastatingly sexy. Ben wills himself to look away and into the deep clearing of oak trees that lead into the woods. 

"That _is_ my property, Father," he corrects. "But you're welcome any time." He hopes that it doesn't sound too eager. 

An elegant eyebrow is raised questioningly. "You own these woods?" 

"My father did," Ben says. 

"And where is he now, may I ask?" 

"Dead." 

There is no sympathy from the priest, only an appraising look from the latter. After a second, he says almost mechanically, "A shame. I'm sorry for your loss." 

"It's been ten years," Ben says for no particular reason. He feels himself breathing heavily, though he's long since caught his breath from chopping. 

The priest murmurs, almost to himself, "You would only have been, what, seventeen?" Then, "Is that why you've stayed in St. Helena all these years?" 

Ben is surprised when he processes the question. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean that you're one of the ten residents in St. Helena who are under sixty." The priest lifts a hand and begins to count off, "Mr. Dameron is a poor excuse for a petty criminal, that whimsical boy who follows him around was dishonorably discharged from the marines, Rey is either stupid or in love with you - quite possibly both, and - well, you understand the point, Mr. Solo." 

"Ben," he automatically corrects, then hurriedly adds, "and Rey's not in love with me." 

The priest smiles humorlessly.

Red hot shock goes through Ben's system when the priest puts a hand on his shoulder. Long slender fingers touch the base of his neck, cold to the touch. 

"My door is always open to you, Ben," he says in a gentle, caressing way. "Sometimes one needs to confess and repent before they can begin again."

Again, Ben imagines himself contrite and pitiful. The Father's hands buried deep in his hair, a single drop of desire burning him up inside. This is wrong, he thinks.

Hastily, he excuses himself and finds solace from his own hand. 

...

Ben's fingers twitch on the glass of brandy in his hands. When he drinks, it's inevitable that his father comes to mind - Han was always drinking. There wasn't a memory from his childhood that wasn't tainted by the smell of alcohol in the air or on his breath. 

He had promised himself, once. That he would never drink, that he would never be like Han. 

But things change, he thinks. This is in my blood. _This is how my grandfather died, this is how my father died, and this is how I will die._

He sits alone in his room, defeated, and cradles his father's drink of choice. 

...

She's perhaps the most beautiful girl he's ever known, Ben thinks as he pushes her against the cold stone wall of the parish. She has the most expressive eyes, they're big and brown and reveal every thought going through her head. And when she smiles - really smiles, like when Ben makes some awful joke she can't help but giggle at - he thinks he could be in love with her. Could imagine growing old next to her, completely content.

"On a Sunday, Ben?" Rey smiles into him, arms wrapping around his neck. "Couldn't wait till the service was over?" 

Ben doesn't deign to reply, just works his hands up her shirt until he can feel her bra giving way. He's completely focused on the task of unhooking it, and forgets to enjoy himself while he's doing it. 

It's mostly just kissing and feeling each other up - Ben's letting go of the pent up desire in him, and he and Rey have an understanding between each other. He knows its not love on his part, but _by God_ does she feel good pressed up against him. 

He's kissing up her neck when he hears someone clear their throat. 

They freeze, then he feels Rey turn her head just slightly to address their intruder. 

"Hello, Father Armitage," her voice is calm, but her heart is beating rapidly against his skin. 

Ben stands up straighter, his lips buried in Rey's hair, and peers at the priest, whose level gaze is unreadable. He removes his hands from underneath her shirt and tries to lean nonchalantly against the wall. 

"I would advise," said the priest, through clenched teeth, "that you find some other place to rut against." 

With that, he turns and disappears back into the church. 

Rey breathes out, agitated. "What a creep," she mutters. A string of beautifully formed curses is spit out before she fixes up her appearance and picks up her bra, laying abandoned on the floor. 

"Let's go back to your place," she suggests, taking his hand in her own. He lets her lead him to the car. 

He's dragging his finger lightly across her bare back, curious at the contented sounds she makes next to him. Rey stirs and blinks up at him, the admiration in her eyes plainly written across her open, trusting face. He fidgets at that, knowing he can't reciprocate the way she feels. 

"What time is it?" she asks, sleepily.

"Nearly eleven," Ben responds, offering her a secretive smile. "You've been sleeping for two hours." 

"Well," Rey sits up to rest her cheek against his chest. "I needed time to recover from that," she looks pointedly at his crotch. "Have you been up the entire time?" 

"I was thinking,"

"I hate when you do that." Rey kisses his arm. 

"I know," Ben laughs, then catches himself. He's not sure how to form the sentence that's been brewing in his mind for a while now. "Rey, I was . . . well, I was thinking about, maybe - leaving." 

She tenses, and her eyes betray something akin to the betrayal she's feeling. "Leaving St. Helena? Why?" _Is it because of me?_ she's asking, not in so many words. 

"I think it's time for me to start again," Ben sighs. "I've been here so long, Rey." He hates how defeated he sounds, the way he's starting to feel more and more like Han. "Everyone already knew I was never going to stay. I just had to make up my mind about it." 

He waits for her reaction, but she's frozen. 

"I want you to come with me," he adds, and he's almost certain he means it. "Will you come with me?" 

"This is my home, Ben," she murmurs, breaking from her trance. But he knows she's already made up her mind - he knows what choice she'll make every single time. 

Ben moves to get off the bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. She watches him the whole time, but makes no move to follow him up. He's somewhat relieved. 

"We could make a new home," he says. "I'll take up a job somewhere - I'm a good carpenter. We can set up a shop for you . . . haven't you always wanted to become a mechanic? We could do it, Rey. We could . . ." he trails off, and turns to her. He realizes that there's probably nothing more he's ever wanted than to get out of this godforsaken town. To finally lay to rest the ghost of his father that's haunted him since he was seventeen. "Say yes, Rey." 

"Yes," she echoes without hesitation. "I'll go with you. Anywhere." 

"Pack your bags," he says grimly. "I have something I have to do before we go." 

He slips on his shirt and leaves the door unlocked. It's almost concerning how natural it feels to lead himself to _him_. 

...

The priest doesn't look surprised to see Ben at his doorstep at such an unorthodox hour. In fact, he looks as if he's been impatiently waiting for his arrival. 

"Come in," he says. 

"Thank you," Ben takes note of how modestly the priest lives. The living room, to which he is lead, has no television - not even a radio sits on its barren shelves. There are a couple photo frames, one that holds a picture of a young ginger boy with a stern looking father, who also dons the clergyman's attire. He has the same piercing green eyes and fiery hair as Father Armitage, but there is little else in common. Ben notes that the little boy in the picture looks less composed than the Father does right now. He's lost something along the way, Ben thinks to himself. 

"I'm afraid the church is closed right now," he takes a seat on a rickety wooden chair, but doesn't invite Ben to follow. "And I don't happen to have a confession booth in my home, as you can see. We'll have to do this face-to-face, then." He doesn't sound sorry. A sick part of Ben thinks that the priest sounds _thrilled_. 

"I'm sorry to bother you, Father," Ben begins.

"Hux," he says. "Since we're doing this on unorthodox terms, you may call me by my name. Hux." He lights a cigarette and lets it hang from his lips. 

"Okay, Hux," it sounds rough and unclean coming from him. He feels like he's desecrating the name, somehow. "I don't really know how to do this. I've only done it when I was a kid . . . Father, I must confess, I've only started going to church regularly after your arrival." 

Hux is silent. Ben resumes.

"I'm leaving, like you said I should." 

"I never said anything," the priest snaps. He regains his composure almost instantaneously, the sheer veil of grace falling over his eyes again. His voice is tight when he asks, "And you'll be going with that girl" - his lip curls in disgust when he drawls out the word - "Rey?" 

Ben falls to his knees in front of the man, and feels a strange tug of satisfaction when he hears Hux's breathing hitch. "This is my last chance, Hux. If I don't leave now, I'll never get the courage to do it again." 

"Then go," Hux spits in cool apathy. "If that's what you wish." 

A shared moment of hostility washes over them. Then, it's gone. 

Ben lowers his head onto Hux's knees, closing his eyes and breathing out softly. It shouldn't, but it goes straight to Hux's groin. 

"Father," he says, "please forgive me for I have sinned." 

Hux shifts his legs, almost imperceptibly, and waits. 

His penitent confessor shakes just slightly, biting out the next words to come out of his mouth. 

"Hux," he says. "I killed my father."

He's surprised when he feels gentle fingers run through his hair. There are no other offerings of sympathy or affection, but it's enough. Ben feels himself uncoil and lets the tears fall freely down his face. 

"I was stupid, Hux," he's having trouble forming the words he's buried in himself for so long. "I was . . . I was only seventeen. I hated my father, I hated my mother - I hated myself. And when he - Christ, he spent my mother's savings. She'd saved up for _so_ goddamn long, so that she could open up a store or some shit. And he spent it. All of it, and more." 

"He came home drunk, like he always did. I was just so fucking mad, I couldn't help it. I pushed - God, Hux, I pushed him and . . . I swear, I didn't realize we were in front of the stairs. If he was sober . . . if he -" Ben bites his cheek so hard he draws blood. The taste of copper overwhelms him and he slumps between Hux's legs, defeated. He lets Hux pet him, like a dog, and hangs his head. 

"Do you see?" Ben whispers. "Do you see why I have to leave? Why I couldn't bear to for ten fucking _years_? I have to go before I'm condemned to live the same life he did." 

Hux's cold hands brush over his neck and wrap around his jaw, pushing his face up. His green eyes are devoid of any consolation. 

He takes a slow drag of his cigarette before he speaks. "You've done penance enough, Ben," a thumb brushes gently across his face and cleans the tears from his face. "You are your father's son, but you are not your father. You don't carry the burden of his sins." 

Ben swallows thickly, "I've thought of you, Father. Forgive me - I've _wanted_ you." 

"You have very peculiar timing," Hux says, but he doesn't push him away. He takes the opportunity to sit up, his face inches away from Hux's as he takes another drag of his cigarette. 

For the first time, Ben goes after what he wants.

Hux puts out his cigarette. 

In the morning, Ben dresses himself solemnly. 

"You look pained," Hux says. He's already smoking again, a habit Ben would normally have been disgusted by, but he finds it comforting in Hux. "You have something to say to me?" 

"I won't ask you to come with me," Ben begins. Hux snorts, grabbing the glass of whiskey from his bedside table. "I know how it makes me look." 

"You can imagine," he says dryly. 

"But if I were to come back," he omits the _for you_ , "would you still be here?"

Hux holds his gaze and, after a second, reveals a small smile. "Highly unlikely, seeing as I've been asked to resign." 

"You - _what_?" Ben drops his pants comically.

"Yes," Hux swings his long legs over the bed to help Ben with his shirt. "It seems as though the church is less accepting of my liaisons as you are," Hux grins. "And I've learned, a very unpleasant way, that the janitor's closet in the parish doesn't lock properly - don't look so scandalized, Ben. Did you think I would wait all these months for you to figure out what you've wanted?" Ben registers the furtive glances shared between Hux and Poe the past few weeks. He feels, surprisingly, a lot more amiable than he thought he would. 

Hux leaves the top buttons undone, so that the marks on Ben's neck are just barely visible. 

"But if at any point you're tired of playing pretend with the girl," Hux says, sounding uncharacteristically hopeful and vulnerable, "I've got a position in Galway."

Ben nods, and puts a hand on the door to leave. 

The last words Hux leaves him with are almost enough to make him stay. 

"I wouldn't mind so much," a pause. "Waiting for you." 

The door clicks softly behind him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I am so hyped for TROS, but I am so so so sad that the series is ending :(


End file.
